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<title>"Poo-Tee-Weet", or how Owen's heart is buried in Venice by Newt_salamander</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29641272">"Poo-Tee-Weet", or how Owen's heart is buried in Venice</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Newt_salamander/pseuds/Newt_salamander'>Newt_salamander</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Spies Are Forever - Talkfine/Tin Can Brothers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Amusment Parks, Angst, Hints of Fluff, Lots of that, M/M, darker themes, this was also meant to be shorter, this was supposed to be fluff, vague mentions of ww2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 20:20:40</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,167</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29641272</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Newt_salamander/pseuds/Newt_salamander</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It disgusted Owen, their lack of regard for human life. He wondered why the movies made discord and deception glamorous. Who, in their right mind, would want to be like him?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Owen Carvour/Agent Curt Mega</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>"Poo-Tee-Weet", or how Owen's heart is buried in Venice</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Trigger warning: Some vague mentions of the holocaust/ww2</p><p> Title a reference to both Slaughterhouse-Five by Kurt Vonnegut and My Heart is Buried in Venice by Ricky Montgomery </p><p>This was not supposed to be this sad.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was 1956. </p><p> </p>
<p></p><div><p> </p>
<p></p><div><p>Nothing remarkable about 1956. </p></div><div><p>Owen remembered reading about a negotiation between the Russians and the Americans, but in his opinion it was all show. All a little performance, to make the men up in their high castles feel both safe and powerful. It disgusted Owen, their lack of regard for human life. He wondered why the movies made discord and deception glamorous. Who, in their right mind, would want to be like him? He decided to bring it up to Curt. </p></div><div><p>They were in bed, in some motel in Spain, and Owen thought, <em>here goes nothing. </em></p></div><div><p>
      
    </p>
<p></p><div><p>"Does it ever bother you, how Cynthia makes you kill whoever she wants, just because Eisenhower or Hoover or whoever told her? Does it ever bother you, how you just do it because she told you to?” </p></div><div><p>The point flew over Curt’s head. </p></div><div><p>“Well I gotta do that shit, babe.” Owen’s chest fluttered. "I’ll get fired if I don’t, and then <em>how </em>will I see your pretty face?” Curt craned his neck, grinning at him. </p></div><div><p>“You flirt.” A pause. "How many of those men you killed had daughters, wives, sons, that they never got to see again just because they needed to make a living post-war? Just because you’re fighting <em>another </em>war for somebody else.” </p></div></div><div><p>The grin morphed into a harder expression, and Curt sat up. “I’m gonna- I’m gonna light a cigarette. I’ll be outside if you need me. Love you.” </p></div><div><p>Owen did not say it back. </p></div><div><p>It was not until the next morning that Owen remembered that Curt had never smoked in his life. So much for knowing the man. </p></div></div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Owen did not bring up war or killing or glamour again for a while. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>It was still 1956. Wonderful weather they were having in Venice. They decided to go for a walk. Curt tried to hold his hand, so Owen had to shove him. One day it’ll be a playful shove, he promises himself. One day the Communists and the Capitalists will have a nice dinner and smile at each other. One day war will be a whisper in those who lived to remember it, one day the government will say “all is well.” </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>One day they’ll mean it.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>They walked for about fifteen minutes before Curt got bored. Soon enough, he was asking if they could turn back, if there was food nearby. His attention was grabbed by what looked like a boardwalk fair, his eyes growing larger than life. It was charming, in a way. Almost like this <em>was </em>just a young man and his lover enjoying a Friday evening. Owen was compelled to give into his inhibitions, to act like some teen with their boyfriend. He looked back at Curt. The moment was gone, because all he could see was their last mission. Something in Monaco. Curt shot 5 men in the head, He blew up the building after. No reason. He was just bored. He was looking for a reason to turn back, to find food. Owen couldn’t love a man like that. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Cotton candy! Owen, they have <em>cotton candy</em>!” Curt goes back to squeeze his hand, but stops short. No hand holding in public. No talk of work in public. Don’t be yourself in public.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Owen liked to list stuff. It made him feel profound, collected. Like his mum and dad. He was currently listing the debatable healthiness of a stick (pole?) of cotton candy. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Never had it. Looks dreadfully sweet.” Curt let out a theatric gasp. <em>No acting like a queer in public, Curt.</em> </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“<em>Owen. </em>You’ve never had cotton candy? What did you even <em>do </em>as a child?” It was meant to be teasing, to be light. Owen saw Monaco. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Not much. I was a soldier, I washed myself with the fat of dead children. I rot in a veterans home, trying to recover from the horrors I saw. All because I thought a 16 year old passed as an 18 year old. All because I wanted to fight in a war.” It’s said coldly, and Curt’s eyes look like they did when they told him a fellow agent passed away. Fearful. Regretful. Terrified. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Yeah. Yeah. I-. Yeah. I’m gonna. Yeah. I’m gonna buy you some. So you can try it. Yeah.” </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Only then does Owen feel regret. He did <em>care </em>for Curt, he didn’t want to hurt him. But that conversation —if you could call it that— in Spain still rings clearly in his ears. His right one, at least. His left eardrum was ruined when a polish boy shoved a lollipop stick in his ear. All of the horrors, and a child did the most damage. Kind of like Curt Mega. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Owen got lost in his thoughts, and soon enough, Curt returned with a forced smile and two blue abominations. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Let’s walk for a bit, Owe. We could check out the arcade.” Curt, bless his heart, was trying. Owen kind of loved him for it. Then he remembered. Monaco. 5 men with someone who loved them. Countless more with someone to go home to. Curt was a killer, and killers shouldn’t love. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Owen was a killer too. His conscious likes to forget that. Well, isn’t that sweet? Two murderers falling in love, in the middle of a war that wasn’t really a war. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>He was good at shooting the ducks. Of course he was. He gave Owen a stuffed monkey. The scrawniest, most unkept plush there. Owen asked him why he chose that one. Curt told him that it was the one that deserved love the most. Owen’s heart did a weird stutter. He needs to remind himself. Monaco. Vienna, too. And Luxembourg.  </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Wanna try the milk jug one? Where you toss the baseballs? They have that one at the jersey shore boardwalk. My ma and I used to go. Bet you’d be really good at it. You could… O-<em>win</em>.” The last sentence was said with a smirk. Owen returned it. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Dork.” </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“You love it.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Hey, I like the Ferris wheels. Want to go on one?” </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Oh! You betcha!” </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Owen learns a new thing about Curt that day. He’s deathly afraid of heights. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Jesus. Jesus fucking <em>christ. </em>Holy fuck-“</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“I thought you were Jewish.” Owen remarked. He forgot about Monaco. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Fuck you.” He scooted closer to Owen, resting his head in his neck. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“…Are you closing your eyes?” </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Yes.” They both chuckled. Owen tilted Curt’s head, making the man forced to stare at him. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Just look at me. Don’t look down.” He forgot about Monaco. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“How ‘bout I kiss you instead.” <em>He forgot about Monaco.</em> </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Sure thing, love.” Maybe he forgot because he was tired, or maybe he didn’t forget and he didn’t care. All he could remember were Curt’s eyes. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Curt Mega, I think I might be falling in love with you.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“You think?” </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“I haven’t decided yet.” </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Well, you have the rest of your life to find out.” </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Owen had a sick feeling that wouldn’t be all that long. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“How about pizza for dinner?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>“Nice."</em>
  </p>
</div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>There she is. </p><p>I always appreciate comments, they feed my narcissism.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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